


Sunrise, Sunset

by Elysium16



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Post-World of Light, Rare Pairings, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Smash Mansion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysium16/pseuds/Elysium16
Summary: After the events of World of Light, Galeem and Dharkon become Spirits themselves. The Smasherswouldsee this as poetic justice...were it not for the fact that they're expected to stay at the Mansion now, an arrangement that pleases nobody—especially not Galeem and Dharkon.But amongst the chaos of a new life, the rush to start the Ultimate tournament, and the eccentricities of the Smashers themselves, the two began to see each other differently.Verydifferently, in fact.





	1. Raise Your Spirits (Ba-Dum-Tss!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> So so so _so._
> 
> Welcome to my pet project! I give you AO3's (possibly even _the_) very first, non-smut, _chaptered_ Galeem/Dharkon work. What can I say? This story is completely and _utterly_ self-indulgent, written mostly because no one _else_ was going to write it. Which is why, for the sake of my fellow fans (all two of them), I have decided to begin the lengthy process of writing THIS! So, without further ado, I give you...
> 
> _Sunrise, Sunset_!
> 
> Enjoy the show!

Cold.

Coldwetcold.

Very wet, actually. Am I underwater? I have no idea. My brain’s all fuzzy and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s too cold. Too wet. Not too dark, though. I like the dark.

…wait, I AM underwater!

Oh crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. Where’s the surface?! Which way is up?! I don’t know! My vision’s too blurry and my eye hurts and if I could scream I would but I _can’t_ because that’ll just speed up the drowning process and I _don’t want to die._

Not like this.

Okay. Calm down. You aren’t dying here, me. Just look for the light and head up to it and then get out of…wherever you are. How _did_ I get myself into this situation, actually? Oh well. Doesn’t matter. Just need to find the—

Oh, _there’s_ the light!

I force myself up to the surface as fast as possible—which is really slow with the water in my way—and the light grows brighter and brighter and the water’s warming—not by much, but I’ll take it—and I can _see_ the sky—

_Splash!_

I break the water’s surface, gasping for air. I look around the lake—oh, so _that’s_ where I was!—to find a way _out_ of the lake. Not left. Not right. And I feel too sore to float.

I turn around—there! A cliff, overlooking the lake! It’s not that high, so I could climb, and it’s not that far away, so I won’t get tired on the way there and sink. That’s how I can get out of here!

…admittedly, there’s no hand or foot (or claw, in my case) holds, buuuuuut I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I _sloooooowly_ swim to the cliff. Like really slow. Like, really, _really_ slow. Why are my limbs so weak? How am I supposed to _get_ anywhere? Actually, that one has an answer—I float. Unfortunately, floating isn’t very helpful when you’re in a lake.

Actually, would it be better to call it _levitating?_ After all, I am technically floating. If I wasn’t floating right now, I’d be at the bottom of the lake, drowning. Words that mean more than one thing are so weird. Why hasn’t anyone made new words, so people don’t get confused—

Oh! I’m here! I guess time flies when you’re lost in thought.

I reach up, dig my claws into the cliffside, then pull myself out of the wat—

AAAAAAAAH I REGRET THIS SO MUCH!

I’m dripping wet, I’m freezing, my tendrils feel like lead, and now my muscles are _burning_ from strain. I look up and my heart plummets—twenty feet of cliff to scale. _How the heck did it look so small earlier?!_

Okay, this isn’t going to be _quite_ as easy as I thought it’d be, buuuuuuut no pain no gain! I got this.

I pull up again. One foot of cliff down! Who-knows-how-many left to go.

Pull up. Two feet down. Pull up. Three feet down. Pull up…this is getting boring…oh, that cloud looks interesting! Like a giraffe. Pull up.

And so on. Just me, pulling myself up to the sound of the waves. _Why does a **lake** have **waves?**_ I wonder mid-pull. Maybe ‘cause I fell in, though I don’t really remember what _caused_ me to fall in the first place. Come to think of it, I _should_ try to remember—

Ow. Ow. My brain hurts. Ow.

Okay. Climb now, remember later.

Pull up. How long have I been doing this? I feel like I’ve been here _forever!_ I press against the cliff wall and dig my claws in deeper. “Just a few more inches,” I mutter, pulling up. “Just a few more…”

Pull up—almost there! Pull—

With a gasp for air, I pull myself to the surface and collapse on the dirt.

_Ow. Ow. Ow._ My everything aches. Dull pain slithers through my brain, fogging my thoughts as I try to remember how I got into this situation in the first place. I mean, generally you don’t wake up underwater because because. There’s usually _some_ sort of explanation.

…also, is it just me, or is the world a lot bigger?

“Euuuugh…”

Oh. Oh, of _course._ Why am I surprised he’s here?

I lift myself off the ground—yep, world’s _definitely_ bigger—and turn to my right. Yep, I was right; the two wings _slo-o-owly_ dragging their owner upwards and outwards belong to Galeem. Now that I think about it, why was I confused about why I was surprised he’s here? Galeem’s far from the type to jump into lakes for fun, and he’s even less of the type to (willingly) spend time around me, so why—

Oh.

Oh dear.

Or, um, maybe hooray?

Galeem’s pulled himself over the cliff edge by now, and is just as dripping wet as I am, feathers matted from the excess amounts of water. He scoffs and flicks a few droplets off, before his attention is drawn to me. “Oh. _You’re—_” His voice dies out. “Er…”

I blink a few times, then focus on Galeem and not the blue aura surrounding him that pretty much screams, _Something is wrong here!_ “You’re, um…” How do I say this? “You’re…”

“Eh…you…”

You know what? I’m just not going to play this game. “You say it first,” I say.

“No, no, I’m _sure_ whatever you have to say is…_infinitely_ more important…”

“Sooooo we’re in a stalemate then?”

“How did you not notice the sar—”

Oh! I just got the _perfect_ idea for ending the stalemate! “I know!” I chirp, clasping two claws together. “We both say it at the same time. Ready?”

“That’s— Oh, whatever.”

“Okay! Three, two, one!”

“_You’re a Spirit!_”

…oh no.

He didn’t say that. He _couldn’t’ve_ said that. Maybe I was too loud, maybe I wasn’t paying attention, maybe there’s some other explanation that _isn’t that!_

“_What,_” Galeem says with incredibly forced calm, “did you just say?”

“F-forget me! What did _you_ just say?!”

“The same…the same thing you said.”

Oh no.

No no no no no.

This isn’t happening.

This is a dream.

Any moment now, I’m going to wake up and breathe a sigh of relief because _boy,_ wasn’t that a crazy nightmare?

…any moment now.

Any. Moment. Now.

My eye darts—left, right, left, right. I catch something out of the corner of my eye—a tree. I dash over to it, hoping and hoping and _hoping_ that it’s not…taller…than I…

I falter. It’s big—really big. It towers over me, in fact. But trees _never_ tower over me, so either we’re dealing with the Yggdrasil over here or…

“We’re Spirits,” I mutter, eye widening. A horrible silence hangs in the air.

Then I scramble back to Galeem—getting a bit close, if his startled yell is any indication—and _shriek_ in utter panic, “_CHANGE US BACK!_”

“Wh-_what?!_” Galeem yells, backing up. “Wh-what do you expect me to do about this?!”

“_Fix it!_”

“I-I can’t!”

“Yes, you can! You _created_ Spirits, you should know how to get them back to nor—”

“_No, I don’t!_”

No. Nooooooo no no no, he did _not_ just say that. “What?” I squeak out.

“I-I can’t do it. I never found out how to undo the Spirit transformation, it could be _permanent_ for all I know. I can’t fix this, I-I don’t know if it’s even possible to change back, and if it is, we still couldn’t because I _don’t know how!_”

…he didn’t just say that.

He _didn’t_ just say it could be permanent.

I most certainly did _not_ hear him say—

Oh, _who am I kidding?!_

“BUT I DON’T _WANT_ TO BE A SPIRIT!” I scream, hysteria fully taking control. My eye starts watering and I rub it with a claw because like _hell_ am I crying in front of Galeem. “I-I-I—” Oh. Oh _no._ “Wait, Spirits are made from the dead! S-so we— we—”

“Died,” Galeem finished _(how is he so calm right now?!)_.

_Died._ The word echoes in my mind, and a wave of nausea rushes through my body. I suck in a breath to steady myself, then whisper, “How did we die?”

Galeem scoffs. “How do you _not_ know? Unless, of course, your memory has gotten even worse since last we spoke.”

“Hey!” I say, indignant. “You try remembering something as big as your own death when your entire brain is clogged with water. A waterlogged brain is not a smart brain.”

“I think that may be a problem specific to you.”

My eye widens. “Bu— I— You—” For a few seconds, I’m unable to form a coherent sentence. Finally, I scowl and cross two tendrils under my eye. “You are just _terrible,_ you know that?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Galeem mutters.

“Wh-what have _I_ done?!”

“Oh, have you _forgotten?!_” he snaps, voice rising. “Or must I _remind_ you? If you don’t want people to see you as terrible, _don’t even THINK of doing something like that ever again!_”

I jerk back. He _had_ to bring that up, didn’t he? “I’ve already told you!” I yell. “I had _reasons_ for doing that, and if you’d ever stop seeing what you want to see and _listen_ for once in your life—!”

_SMACK!_

“_Ow!_” I yell, jerking back again. Ow, ow, ow, eye stings, _eye stings!_ Oh, I feel like I’ve just been _slapped._ I smack a claw onto the right side of my eye where the ow is strongest, then look back to Ga—

Oh, no _wonder_ I feel like I was slapped! I was. Galeem is _very obviously_ shaking the sting out of his wing.

My annoyance level boils over to _pissed off._ “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” I shriek, storming forward.

Galeem gives a (deliberately) casual shrug. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.

My eye twitches. “Is it a _fight_ you want?” I snarl, clicking my claws together.

“Well, I suppose when you put it _that_ way—”

“THEN FINE!” My tendrils form into a hammer and I leap forward to smash that smug, egotistical _jackass_ into the _dirt_ (which in all honesty doesn’t deserve him, but I digress.) A teensy-weensy part of my brain is currently asking me _why_ I’m trying to kill him when what I wanted was for him to listen, but who cares about that part?! I’m so _done_ with him, and absolutely _nothing_ is getting in the way of—

“_Stoooop!_”

…never mind.

I turn to the source of the voice, limbs drifting apart and back to their original positions. What I see is…

…a puffball.

One with a saddened look on his face, eyes brimming with tears and _oh no he’s so cute but he’s so sad I feel like the worst piece of scum on the Earth—_

“You can’t kill each other!” he wails. “Friends don’t kill friends!”

_Friends?_ I mean…no, that was a long time ago. Get over it, me. He’s just like the others, he doesn’t care.

“Since when were we _friends?_” Galeem asks. _(See what I mean?)_

“Since I beat you! All it takes is a good beatdown to become friends with someone. Marx, Magolor, Taranza, the Mage Sisters…”

Oh.

_Oh._

_Now_ I remember.

This puffball…_Kirby_…

He killed me.

He killed us.

Galeem’s realized it too.

“_YOU_ DID THIS!” he roars, core burning bright red. Kirby leaps back in shock. “_YOU_ TURNED US INTO THESE…THESE _THINGS!_ YOU’D DAMN WELL BETTER FIX IT, OR I WILL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM _LIMB!_”

“I-I didn’t do that!” Kirby cries, and my heart stings in sympathy. “I-I just heard you panicking, a-and I wanted to help you because I was worried! You seemed so _scared,_ and I thought I could help you because friends help friends, and, and…”

Oh no. Now he’s crying. Not _just_ crying—those sobs could pierce a soul. They’re piercing mine right now. Oh, _god,_ I feel awful and I didn’t even do anything. I glance at Galeem—he’s as unmoved as ever. Scowling, I float next to him. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

Sure enough, “No.”

I sigh. Well, _someone_ has to apologize. I float next to Kirby and poke him on the cheek, causing him to look up. “Sorry Galeem’s being a jerk. It’s his default state of being.”

Kirby giggles, and…oh dear. Galeem’s core’s going red. The volcano’s going to erupt any second now and I’m on the wrong side. Again. Granted, emotional volcanoes are a _lot_ better than actual volcanoes, mostly because emotional volcanoes don’t involve rediscovering the ancient art of “fire hot, ow”. I should know—I’ve been in an erupting volcano once. Didn’t kill me, though!

“Ahem!” Oh! Right. Kirby was talking. “I wanted to ask you two something.”

I shrug. “Fire away.”

“Do you want to come to the mansion with me?”

The…mansion? I’ve heard of mansions—big, gothic places where ghosts live—but why the Smashers would live in one is beyond me. “I didn’t know you had a mansion,” I say.

Galeem scoffs _(of **course** he knows already)_. “The Smash Mansion,” he says, “is where the Smashers live whenever they’re having one of their ridiculous tournaments.” _(“They’re not ridiculous!” Kirby shouts.)_ “Why an entire _mansion_ is needed to host them is beyond me, but only the _best_ for the universe’s _greatest,_ I suppose.” Every word drips with contempt.

“Right!” Kirby chirps. “You could’ve been a lot nicer…but you’re right.” He breaks into a grin and _oh my god he’s so cute even though he killed me but I care about that a lot less now._ “Anyway! Want to come?”

Weeeeeeell…why not? It’s not like I have many other options, and it could be fun! “I’m in!” I say.

Kirby beams, then looks at Galeem. “And you?” he asks, voice hopeful.

Galeem is silent. _He’s going to say no. He’s going to say no. He’s going to say no._ “I will ask you this,” he finally says. “Could Master Hand potentially undo our…predicament?”

Kirby tilts his head. “You mean the Spirit thing?”

“What did you _think_ I meant?”

“Um…” Kirby frowns. “Maybe? I dunno, I’ve been a Smasher since the 64 days and I still don’t know what he can do…”

Another long period of silence. Then, Galeem sighs. “I…suppose…I shall risk it.”

…wait, he said YES?! My eye pops open with disbelief.

Kirby’s smile returns. “Yay!” he cheers, leaping into the air. “Come on! Everyone’s waiting for me to get back. We better hurry, or we’ll be late!” He then runs—how his stubby little feet move so fast is a mystery for the ages—down the cliff. (Er, not like that…)

Pause. Then, Galeem turns to me. “It is rude to stare.”

Oh! I, er, hadn’t realized. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just…I wasn’t expecting you to say yes. I thought you’d hold a grudge.”

“Oh, trust me, I do. You of all people should know that I do _not_ let things like death go.” Oh, wow, the ground’s suddenly become _very_ interesting. I think I’ll go look at that for a bit. “The Smashers _will_ receive their comeuppance, Kirby especially. For now, though, it’s better to play along with whatever on Earth he’s trying.”

“Hey!” Kirby shouts. “We’re gonna be late! Come on, let’s go!”

“Ah. It seems our presence is required. We’d best get going.”

I’m about to speak, aaaaaaand he’s already following Kirby. I dash forward to catch up, the words already echoing in my brain. _You of all people should know that I do **not** let things like death go._ I’ve _tried_ to tell him the truth about that about a hundred times, but does he ever listen? Nope! _He’s_ too sure in his own superiority to _ever_ listen to a _peon_ such as myself. What business do _I_ have trying to give reasons when he’s _refusing_ to listen?! Ugh, I can’t believe we were ever—

Nope. Noooooope. Not falling into that trap. _Not_ thinking about that—those days are _long_ gone.

I zip up right behind Kirby and say maybe a _bit_ too loudly, “So! Kirby! What’s the Mansion like?”

“Oh! Well, it’s big. Like, _really_ big. Like…what’s the term that TV show Peach is obsessed with uses? Bigger on the inside? Yeah, that! Oh, and it’s _really_ nice. My room has a personal kitchen! And there are _secret passages!_ Everywhere! I’ve memorized the one to the kitchens, I can show you if you want!”

…you know, maybe becoming a Spirit won’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! One chapter down...thirty-nine more to go. (What have I gotten myself into?!)
> 
> Oh, and just so you know, odd chapters will be from Dharkon's POV, even chapters from Galeem's.
> 
> ...in spite of the fact that whenever I write their names, Galeem's name is always first. No exceptions. That is the LAW, people. (So _naturally,_ freakin' AO3 puts _Dharkon's_ name first in the ship tag _*grumble grumble*_…)
> 
> Ahem! Anyway, let me know what you think! Granted, I'll (attempt to) finish this with or without your input, but feedback's always nice.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	2. The "Joys" of Being a Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: odd chapters are from Dharkon's POV, even chapters from Galeem's. Remember this, 'cause it's the last time I'm reminding you.

Without a doubt, becoming a Spirit is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Perhaps I am exaggerating a bit. After all, it’s not like becoming a Spirit is on the same level as the _former_ worst thing. Though at least _that_ showed Dharkon’s true colors, so it _did_ provide (somewhat) of a positive.

This? This fails to provide a positive _or_ remove a negative. Not _only_ did I _die,_ I’m also left with the knowledge that I completely and utterly _failed._ And to add insult to an injury that has been infected with _every disease known to man,_ I am currently stuck in circumstances that have escalated _far_ beyond my control! _Gah,_ I need to break somethi—

No. _Stasis,_ I remind myself. _No emotions. No instinct. Just logic._ The anger ebbs away, leaving a far more rational mind in its place. Much better. Now, at least, I can look at this situation _without_ my frustration getting in the way.

Let’s see. I am following Kirby down a trail winding through a thick forest. (I can barely _believe_ how small I have become. I’m only slightly bigger than this _puffball_ is!) I likely possess almost no powers, and the ones I _do_ have are weakened significantly. I am very much _not in control,_ a problem that must be rectified post-haste. And—

“So, what’s with the forest anyway?”

…_Dharkon_ is here.

Dharkon. Dharkon, Dharkon, _Dharkon._ Where to start with him? Well, for one thing, he is _excruciatingly_ annoying—I swear, every time he speaks, I can feel my brain cells fizzing out. For another thing, he suffers from “this entire world was made for me exclusively” syndrome—TEWWMFME Syndrome for short. In simpler terms, he’s conceited. Yet whenever I call him out on this, suddenly _I’m_ the hypocrite! What sort of leaps in logic is he even _making?!_

But the worst part?

It’s all fake.

I’ve _seen_ the real Dharkon—the creature hiding behind the mask. And, as mentioned above, that was the worst moment of my life. Really, I haven’t a clue why he continues to pretend around me. I’ve seen who he is, he _knows_ I’ve seen who he is, so for what reason does he still need the mask?

_(Of course, some might suggest I’m not looking at the bigger picture. Counterpoint: I have **seen** the entire picture, and I take great pride in never being wrong.)_

“I dunno,” Kirby said—ah, right, we were having a conversation. Best pay attention to that. “Master Hand said that he and his brother just found it one day. Everyone else just leaves it at that.” He pauses. “Then again, Master Hand also says that monsters come out at night, but I haven’t seen any during _any_ of the tournaments…”

“There were _other_ tournaments?!” Dharkon exclaims _(how on **Earth** is he shocked by this?)_ “Wait, wait, Galeem mentioned those, didn’t he?”

I sigh. “Congratulations,” I say, “you can hear. They’ve had four of the ridiculous things, and they were about to have their fifth before _my_ intervention.”

“Don’t worry!” Kirby chirps. “Your attack didn’t cancel the Ultimate Tournament, it just delayed it a little. Hey, you want to know about the other tournaments?”

“I wasn’t worri—”

“Sure, why not?”

I sigh again.

“The first tournament was held on January 21st, aaaaaaall the way back in 1999! We called it the 64 Tournament. It was really small back then—just me, Mario, DK, Link, Samus, Yoshi, Fox—”

“Pikachu, Luigi, Ness, Captain Falcon, and Jigglypuff,” I finish.

Kirby stops. He turns to stare at me, eyes wide. “How did you…?”

“I’ve done my research,” I say simply. “Keep going.”

Kirby continues to stare for just a _smidgen_ too long. Fortunately for him, he turns back around and continues walking before he starts testing my patience.

“Can you tell me more?” Dharkon asks, eye shining.

“…I suppose so.” I clear…whatever counts for a throat. “The Melee Tournament was next. That was the first tournament with a major _incident_—Master Hand thought it would be a _brilliant_ idea to let his brother have a say in the tournament. Anyone with half a brain cell would know why this is a terrible idea, but Master Hand didn’t _listen_ to his half, and Giga Bowser was created. He was subdued rather quickly, but he’d start the trend of ‘_constant interruptions by cosmic deities_’.”

“But…Bowser’s not a deity.”

“It’s close enough. The Brawl Tournament was almost _immediately_ interrupted by…_something_ called Tabuu. It—”

“He,” Kirby says without turning around.

“—_did_ succeed in dragging most of the universe into Subspace,” I say, pointedly ignoring the puffball. “Fortunately for the universe, he was defeated by…Dedede, Ness, and Luigi. Of all people.”

“_Don’t say that!_” Kirby exclaims, whirling around with a pout on his face. “Dedede’s amazing! And so are Ness and Luigi!”

“You’re only saying that because they saved _you._”

Kirby looks like he might argue, but then simply sighs and turns back to keep walking.

“Anyway,” I continue, “the fourth tournament, creatively called the Fourth Tournament…I’m not quite sure. The records were _frustratingly_ vague. All I know is that Master Hand was involved. Then…” I pause. “The Ultimate Tournament. One that we both know rather…well.”

“No duh, that one got us killed. I blame you.”

“_WHAT?!_” My core flashes red—how _dare_ he? “Your death was _your_ fault! I was doing perfectly _fine,_ and then _you_ showed up, ruined everything, then decided that fighting those who’d already defeated you was a _brilliant_ idea!”

“You fought them too! Besides, if you hadn’t attacked in the first place, I _never_ would’ve come here!”

“How did you know where I was, anyway?”

“Well—”

“We’re here!” I jolt at the sudden shout—suppose this will have to wait. Kirby is eagerly bouncing up and down, waving his stubby arms. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

Dharkon eagerly dashes ahead, the anger having slipped his mind, apparently. Not to be outdone, I myself pick up the pace a little. It pays off rather nicely when I reach Kirby about two seconds before Dharkon does. (Some may call this petty. To those people, I ask of you to stop pretending you never did something similar.)

From that vantage point, we overlook the Smash Mansion.

It is…wow. Admittedly, it does not look too big from where we are—the top of a hill, if you’re curious—but based off the windows, it appears around five stories tall, made from dark bricks. The front yard is rather expansive, covering a large chunk of the land surrounding the mansion. Beyond that yard, the nicely cut grass only goes on for a few more feet before being absorbed into the forest, which stretches on and on as far as the eye can see.

“What do you think?” Kirby asks.

I give my best disinterested shrug. “It is adequate.”

“_Awesome,_” Dharkon breathes, eye shining. “You want us to stay _here?_”

“Yeah! This place can store around a hundred people, but there have never been enough Smashers to fill it up completely.” Kirby smiles brightly. “Now we’re two steps closer to just that!”

Er…a hundred? Doesn’t look like it. “That place is only around five stories tall,” I point out. “It could store quite a few people, albeit cramped, but a hundred? I _highly_ doubt that.”

“I _told_ you two, it’s bigger on the inside! Now, come on! The sun’s about to set and we’re still not there!” As if that resolves the issue, Kirby takes off down the hill.

I turn to Dharkon. “I take it he mentioned it to _you,_ and neglected to inform _me?_”

He shrugs. “Eh, probably.”

_Of **course.**_ No one cares enough to tell me things, do they? Most just expect me to know everything already. I’ll admit, I make an effort _to_ know as much as possible, but _once,_ I’d like someone to remember I am not _omniscient_ and actually let me in the know about thi—!

Damn it. Getting angry over nothing again. _Stasis. Stasis._ Stuffing the frustration into a forgotten corner of my mind, I calmly float after Kirby while Dharkon goes on and on about…something or other.

* * *

“_Ta-da!_”

…it looked _far_ smaller from that hill.

Up close, the mansion _towers_ over us. It’s casting a _shadow._ I thought I was small already, but…if anything, I feel even smaller. Like an iota of dust on a tabletop, or—

I am feeling inadequate to a _building,_ what is _wrong_ with me today? I shake my core to clear it of these thoughts, then ask, “So, how do you plan on entering?”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Kirby pulls a keyring from…somewhere. “The Original Twelve all get keys to the mansion. It’s one of the perks of being one of the first!” He giggles, presumably from some joke we can’t hear, then dashes across the pathway, up the stairs to the porch, and leaps to the door to insert the key.

Then, instead of turning it, he hangs from said key, swaying in the wind. “Um…could one of you…?”

I sigh. “I got it.” I float over to him, perhaps just a _smidgen_ higher than is strictly necessary, and turn the key. The door softly swings open.

“Thanks!” Kirby chirps, dropping onto his feet. He pauses, then adds, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” He dashes through the doorway.

I do not follow. Instead, I wait for Dharkon. Who, after several seconds pass, does not join me.

I turn to him. “I’m _waiting._”

“Oh! I, er…I thought—”

“What else could you have _possibly_ thought?” Wait a moment. “Actually, I don’t want that answered.”

“Why _not?_”

“I have no desire to go mad from knowing the inner workings of a madman’s brain.”

“I’m not _mad!_ I’m _crazy._ There’s a difference!”

I decide not to press it. I’m liable to go mad…_crazy_ myself if I do. Instead, I simply beckon for him to come here…

…and he does. Huh. I expected resistance.

We float through the front door and—

Oh my goodness.

Kirby…Kirby was _not_ kidding about “bigger on the inside”. The _foyer_ looks like it takes up the entire building and then some. Glossy walls stretch to the sky, and an enormous chandelier hangs from the ceiling, reflected on marble floors. Two curved staircases in front of us lead to a floor landing, and along the walls are doors leading to who-knows-where.

“_Woah,_” Dharkon whispered. I suppose that’s an adequate description.

…why does my body feel like it’s burning? Oh, wait. I take it this is jealousy. Jealousy because the Smashers get a _mansion_ to stay in. I internally scoff. What a stupid thing to be jealous of. I shouldn’t concern myself with such _trifles._

Nor should I concern myself with the fact that I feel even _smaller_ inside the mansion.

“_Guuuuuys!_” Oh. I’d forgotten about Kirby. Fortunately, he’s currently leaping up and down a few feet ahead, so I probably won’t forget him again. No. _Definitely._ Self-doubt has no _place_ in my mind. “Let’s go! We gotta take you two to Master Hand!”

Ah. That. I’d forgotten that too. Oh dear, this may be awkward. Dharkon visibly tenses. “U-um…is it possible we can…skip that?”

“Nope! Master Hand gets really mad whenever someone appears out of the blue without letting him know. Besides, it’ll only be a few minutes!”

I don’t suppose we have much of a choice. “Fine,” I grumble. “Where is he?”

“In his office! Don’t worry, we’ll take the elevator.” Kirby points behind himself to a set of glass doors. “Now, come on! We’re gonna be…” He stops, then puts a hand to his…chin? “Actually, we’re already late, aren’t we?” A second, then he shrugs. “Oh well. We can at least try to avoid being even later!”

Fortunately, he does not simply dash ahead this time.

Less fortunately, Dharkon makes it to him first.

Damn it.

“That doesn’t _really_ bother you, does it?” he asks as Kirby hits a few buttons to open the elevator. “I mean…you keep saying you’re ‘_above such nonsense_’ or something like that.”

“Of _course_ it doesn’t,” I snap. “I just do not appreciate being _defeated._”

“But…that wasn’t even a race. We weren’t even competing.”

“We weren’t?”

The elevator opens. We enter, continuing our…conversation.

“Why’s everything got to be a _competition_ with you?” Dharkon asks, rolling his eye. “What have you got to prove? That you’re ‘_da best_’ or whatever? If that’s a yes, who are you trying to prove it to? Yourself?”

Oh, you haven’t the slightest idea. “Perhaps I am not the problem,” I reply, keeping my voice calm. “Perhaps _you_ need to take things more seriously.”

“Well, _perhaps_ you need a sense of humor. You take things _too_ seriously! I feel like I’m talking to a robot.” He taps my wing, and I _instantly_ jerk away. “_Are_ you a robot?”

I want to _scream_ at him. I _would_ scream at him if it were just the two of us. Instead, I stash the anger away and growl out, “These are _feathers,_ you blithering simpleton. Honestly, if we weren’t in polite company, I swear I’d—”

“Guys, can you stop talking?” Kirby interjects, his tone surprisingly tired. “You’re making this ride a lot more awkward than it should be.”

From then on, we ride in silence. I can’t help but feel that this is _infinitely_ more awkward than the argument could ever hope to be, but I don’t point this out. Instead, I pass the time by silently glaring at Dharkon.

…now, granted, I do not have a _face_ per se, but based off the nervous looks he keeps giving me, I believe he gets the message.

After far too long, the elevator doors open with a _ding._ Kirby’s excitement returns, and he eagerly runs down the hallway the doors have opened to. The two of us follow behind, passing one identical wooden door after the other, after the other, after the other, after the other, after…

ARGH.

_(Why, yes, I do get bored, contrary to popular—by which I mean Dharkon’s—belief.)_

How in the name of the gods is this so _dull?!_ This place contains the greatest heroes in the known multiverse! I was expecting crystal spires and gold pillars and halls lined with silver, not _boring_ hallways in _boring_ colors with _boring_ décor—_I_ could do a better job decorating, for crying out loud! _Gah,_ I haven’t the slightest clue why this is getting on my nerves, but it _is,_ and—

_Stasis. **Stasis.**_ I suck in a breath. I do not normally get so upset about these things. Perhaps my frustration is building up. It may be best to vacate the premises as soon as possible, to let it drain out.

“We’re here!” Kirby announces—wait, really? I look behind me, and sure enough, we’ve reached the end of the hallway. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

_Yes, it was._ I look at Dharkon—yep, eye’s closed. He must’ve fallen asleep from boredom, though how he managed to continue following us, I shall never know. I reach out a wing and poke him.

“H-huh…? Whaz…?” he mutters, eye blinking open.

“We’re here,” I say curtly.

Kirby opens the door and enters the office. “Master Hand!” he singsongs. “I have some important news!” The door swings shut behind him.

From there, it’s a matter of…more waiting.

_Joy._

“So, uh…” Dharkon nervously laughs. “How’s things?”

I cross my wings under my core. “I have been _better,_ thank you very much.”

“Right! Right. Stupid question.” Merely a few seconds pass before he decides to try again. “What have you been getting up to?”

I wave a wing. “Oh, you know, researching my enemies, amassing an army, getting ready to take over this world and impose my perfect order. Quite boring, really. And you?”

“Well, I _was_ just in the Dark Realm, doing my thing—”

“By which you mean?”

He ignores me. “When suddenly, a wild Crazy Hand appeared! He was freaked out, going on and on about a crazy angel thing that kidnapped his brother and had just offed most of the Smashers. Gee, I wonder who _that_ was?” He very pointedly looks at me, and my frustration flares again. _Stasis._ “Guy needed help. So! I asked where you were—World of Trophies—if I could clone Crazy—yes—then it was just a matter of waiting until BAM!”

He smiles (well, not in the _normal_ way, but his eye is shut in the upturned “happy” way, which is pretty much the closest thing for him) and waves his claw in front of me in a _mocking_ manner. I clench my wingtips into fists. _Stasis. Stasis._ “And on that day, when the sky fell away, your world of light came to an end. Game over, thanks for playing!”

I suck in a breath. _**Stasis.**_ “I would like to remind you that your intervention led directly to your _death._ As such, I could really care less for your…_mocking_ mannerisms.” I’m lucky he’s too dense to notice a lie when he hears one.

“Huh. I thought that might get under your skin.”

“I _do_ suppose annoying people is your special talent.”

“Hey! I have other talents!”

“Like?”

“I can sing!”

Oh. Oh god. Oh no. “Dharkon, no,” I say, trying not to panic.

Dharkon’s eye tilts to the side. “What’s gotten into _you?_ I just said I _can_ sing, not that I’m _gonna._ …Unless…” His eye lights up. “You want to hear me sing!?”

“Dharkon, I swear, if you—”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes!”

…FRICK. “Don’t you _da—!_”

_Mercifully,_ the door opens at that exact moment, sparing me the pain of Dharkon’s…_lovely_ singing voice. Kirby bounces out, an enormous smile on his face. “Great news! I talked him into speaking with you two!”

…perhaps “mercifully” was a bit of a stretch.

“Kirby—”

“Nope! Don’t wanna hear it! You three are going to have a nice, pleasant conversation with each other, and it’s going to be just _splendid!_”

…perhaps it is just me, but the emphasis on the word “splendid” makes it feel “or else” is supposed to follow it.

“We’re gonna die,” Dharkon squeaks.

“From what?” I whisper. “Kirby or Master Hand?”

“Either. Both.”

“Come on! Let’s go!”

And faster than lightspeed, he snatches my wing with one hand—“_Hey!_”—snatches Dharkon’s claw with the other—“_Aah!_”—and flings us into the office.

I crash to the floor—ow—and scramble back into floating. “H-hey! You little—!” 

“Have fun!” he chirps, and then slams the door in my face. 

“Ouchie,” Dharkon mutters, pushing himself up. “He could’ve given us some warning…” 

“He knew we’d try to flee if he did,” I reply, not bothering to look at him. “I was considering that, actually.” 

“So, um…what happens now—?” 

“_Ahem._” 

…this cannot possibly be pleasant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> So, uh, this chapter. It took way too long to get out, and for that, I'm sorry. But...hey, it's done. Which is more than I can say for most stories. XP
> 
> Was it worth the wait? Give me your thoughts!


	3. It's Official: We're Terrible at Negotiating

…confession time! I have no idea how to salvage awkward situations.

I mean, it’s not like there’s anything anyone could do to make _this_ less awkward. Master Hand is behind a desk (why he needs one is a riddle for the ages), radiating so much anger in our direction it’s a wonder the whole room doesn’t burst into flames. Meanwhile, we float in front of the door, too nervous to say a word. Or, uh, maybe that’s just me. Galeem could be spacing out and I’ll never know.

The only sound in the room is the ticking clock, _slooooowly_ counting down the seconds wasted by all of us staring at each other for (what seems like) three weeks. Finally, Galeem breaks the silence.

“I’m going to make this quick—can you fix this?”

…of course he’s already making demands. Of course.

Fortunately, Master Hand seems more confused than anything. “I’m…sorry?”

Galeem scoffs. “You _heard_ me,” he says. “Can you give us our actual bodies back?”

“Not even gonna ask nicely?” I mutter.

“He wrecked all I worked for. What reason do I have to be _nice?_”

“_Ahem,_” the hand says, and we both shut up and listen. “Even if I _could_, I wouldn’t take the risk. I know enough about you—” He turns to Galeem “—to know you’d probably kill us all again, and Kirby would have to go on another adventure.”

“Inaccurate. He too would die.”

“But I _can’t._ Plain and simple. _So_ sorry to disappoint you.”

…oh.

I don’t know what I was expecting. If Galeem can’t do it, Master Hand can’t either. But…I’d wanted to believe it. Does that make me stupid? Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of reasons to call me stupid, I probably am, but—

“Well, that settles that.” Galeem snatches me by the tendril—“_Hey!_”—and starts dragging me to the door. “Come on. We know where we’re not wanted.”

“_Stay._”

Master Hand’s voice echoes throughout the room, the temperature suddenly drops a few degrees…and Galeem stills.

_(Is he afraid?)_

“Come here,” the hand snaps. We do. Maybe if I keep my eye on the floor, he won’t single me out—

“DO YOU TWO HAVE _ANY_ CLUE WHAT YOU DID?!”

GAH THAT WAS LOUD!

I violently flinch back, bracing myself for what’s to come—

“YOU DESTROYED _EVERYTHING!_” I crack my eye open and see he’s rounded on Galeem. Wait a minute…yes! Perfect plan! I start backing away towards the door. “YOU KILLED EVERY SMASHER, EVERY ASSIST TROPHY, EVERY _WORLD!_ DO YOU NOT FEEL EVEN A SHRED OF REMORSE?!”

“Your world was that of _chaos,_” Galeem says, and you would have to be deaf to miss the anger in his tone. “I _fixed_ things. Everything would’ve worked out _great_ if Kirby hadn’t escaped and ruined _everything._”

“So you omnicided all of us into irrelevancy?! What kind of fixing is that?!”

“If you were brought up the way you were _supposed_ to be, you’d understand.”

I bump against the door— Oh my god, I didn’t think I’d make it this far. Heart pounding, I reach for the doorknob and turn it, slowly pushing the door open to freedom—

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!”

OHSWEETMERCIFULMACARONI—

“GAH!” I shriek, leaping backwards and knocking into Galeem.

“_Get off me!_” he yells, shoving me away. “If I were not in polite company—!”

I whirl around to face him. “_It was an accident!_” I yell, clenching my claws into (my equivalent of) fists. “_Get over yourself!_”

“An accident? With _you?_ Somehow, I doubt it!”

“I didn’t mean to hit you during the final battle!”

“You _smashed me with a hammer!_”

“I _missed!_

“Good for you! I’d have been furious if you hadn’t!”

“You would’ve been _squashed_ if I hadn’t missed, and in no shape to do anything about it!”

“_**SILENCE!**_” The _far too loud_ scream causes me to cry out, and I violently flinch (again).

Master Hand floats behind his desk, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Now that I’ve gotten that out, we’re all going to act like the _adults we are,_ and have a relatively civilized conversation about this…_situation._ Okay? Okay.”

We both nod, so he continues. “I’m sure this is something both of you are worried about, so I’ll clear it up real quick: No, I will not be killing you.” I breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing somewhat. “Mostly because I don’t think Spirits _can_ die.” …oh, come on.

“So what _will_ you do?” Galeem asks, and his calm is so obviously forced it’s painful.

Master Hand sighs, sagging somewhat. “Due to the fact that none of us anticipated this…and that it’s unlikely either of you have a home to go back to…” Oh, you have _no_ idea. “…the only course of action we can _take_ is for you two to stay at the Mansion. Yes, that does mean you’ll be sharing your living space.”

Oh, that’s not too bad! Sure, the Smashers aren’t too fond of us, but this place is really nice, and I’m sure they’ll let bygones be bygones! I mean, they let people like _Ridley_ stay, and he’s about as villainous as it gets—

Wait.

Did he say…

_Share?_

“WHAT?!” I yell, jerking back. “No way. Nuh uh. I am _not_ living with _him_, and you can’t make me!”

“Can I go back to the bottom of the lake?” Galeem asks…well, more like snarls. “I hear it’s _lovely_ this time of year.”

“_No,_” snaps Master Hand, and I get the sense he’s trying not to explode himself. “You two will stay here, _indefinitively,_ and you will _not complain._ Honestly, you’re both lucky I didn’t just zap you the moment Kirby told me he’d brought you here.”

Galeem twitches, and for a moment I think he’s about to zap _him._ But instead, he crosses two wings under his core and makes a _hmph_ing sound. “_Fine,_” he snaps. “I won’t complain. That does not mean I have to _like_ it.”

Master Hand turns to me expectantly, and I shrug. “If he starts anything, I’m going to finish it regardless of whether or not you like it. Just so you know.”

“_You_ are the one who starts things!”

“_Okay!_” Master Hand says, quickly cutting in before Galeem can start something (hey, he probably would’ve). “Now that we’ve settled things, get out of my office.”

Wait, what? “Isn’t there…” I wave a claw. “Stuff to go over, or—”

“Oh, there is. I just want you two out of my office. This is non-negotiable.”

Galeem sputters. His core flashes red, and— Oh, _lordy,_ the volcano’s about to erupt and I’m on the wrong side of it. I start looking around— Window. There’s a window. Just gotta make it out before—

“_Fine,_” he growls, and I (slightly) relax. No eruptions. Yet. “Let’s _go._”

He snatches me by the tendril (again) and storms back to the door. This time, Master Hand doesn’t try to stop us.

When we’re out, Galeem _slams_ the door behind him with enough force to shake the wall and leans against said wall to sulk. Well, okay, I can’t actually _tell_ if he’s sulking. He doesn’t have a face, after all. Or even an eye. But the way his wings are crossed is a sulky way, and he almost exploded at Master Hand, so I’m guessing he’s sulking. I’d ask him, but I don’t want to be exploded at and also he wouldn’t say it was sulking. That’d be too _childish_. He’s _contemplating angrily_. Which isn’t sulking. Totally different. You can tell it is because he says so—

“So how’d it go?”

“GAH!” I yell, whirling around to see— Oh, yeah, I forgot. “Oh, hi, Kirby, I forgot you were here.”

“It,” Galeem said, calm somehow more forced than it had ever been before. “Went. _Fine._”

“Oh, good! That means you can see everyone else!”

Wait, what?

“Let’s go already!”

No, no no no no no no, this is a _terrible_ idea. This is the worst idea anyone’s ever had ever, and I’m _counting_ every plan I’ve ever come up with. This is going to get both of us killed again. And maybe they’ll kill Kirby too for bringing us here. Would they kill Kirby? I don’t _think_ they’d kill Kirby. Actually, Master Hand said they couldn’t kill Spirits, so maybe they’ll just beat us up and throw us into the forest. Which wouldn’t be any better, actually—

I snap back to reality—we’re moving. Fast. Kirby’s running down the hall pulling me with one hand and Galeem with the other. Down the hallway. Down to wherever the other Smashers are. Down to what’s effectively our _doom_!

I yank against him—nothing. Why does he have an iron grip?! Who decided that this itty bitty puffball should be _crazy strong_?! Who made that legal?! Because whoever it is, you are now one of my least favorite people! _You have sealed my fate, I hope you are happy!_

Kirby skids to a stop in front of a large door and promptly throws it open. “HI, EVERYONE!” he yells. “I BROUGHT FRIENDS!”

Okay. Okay. There’s music. There’s flashing lights. People are dancing. _Everyone_ is there. Why is everyone there? That’s not good. If everyone’s there, then they have number advantage. I don’t even know how many people—

They notice us. The music dies out.

Dozens of Smashers turn to look in our direction.

Even though I’m screaming on the inside and my mind is already showing me every possible worst-case scenario, I somehow manage to wave.

“Hi again…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
> I have nothing to say for myself.


End file.
